They're Both Mine
by darnedchild
Summary: Deep in his mind, behind the firm knowledge that Molly was with Tom, had been the insidious little pull of temptation that said there were ways around that. Ways that could have made Molly just as happy and let him have what he wanted. If he couldn't have Molly alone . . .


MHAW Day Five – **Day 5 -** Sexy, Naughty, _ _(Fanworks focusing on explicit content with Molly as the focus)_

Not only is this Day 5's Molly Hooper Appreciation Week fic, it's also the final part of the My Pretty, Pretty Boys trilogy. Two birds, one stone. You know the drill. Anywho – have some vaguely NSFW Tom/Molly/Sherlock shenanigans.

 **They're Both Mine**

He wants her.

He had plenty of time to think while he'd been "dead". Time enough to understand that Molly Hooper is as important to him as John Watson. No, more so. Who had he turned to when his future, his very life, was on the line?

Then he came home and waited for her in the locker room of Barts. There he saw her for the first time in two years, her hair in another of those stupid plaits and exhaustion evident in her eyes and the set of her mouth. Until she noticed him and her expression transformed. Suddenly she was radiant, beautiful . . . His.

Except she isn't, is she? Not his alone.

But Sherlock has learned to accept that over the last few months. To want it.

That ring taunted him. He has told himself over and over that his invitation to solve crimes was simply a thank you. He hadn't really spent the day looking for a sign, any sign at all, that she wasn't happy with Tom.

It was and is and always will be obvious—to anyone who wants to understand—that she still wants Sherlock, lusts after his body, loves him even; but she wants Tom just as much, lusts after her fiancé just as much, loves him.

Sherlock can't destroy that, no matter how much he might have wanted to at one time.

Deep in his mind, behind the firm knowledge that Molly was with Tom, had been the insidious little pull of temptation that said there were ways around that. Ways that could have made Molly just as happy and let him have what he wanted. If he couldn't have Molly alone . . .

And then, almost as if they had read his mind and found the dirty little secrets he'd tried so hard to bury, they came to him.

Tom is bold, Sherlock hadn't expected that. Sherlock founds he likes it. When Tom had first suggested it, Sherlock had been overwhelmed with the potential for different scenarios amongst the three of them. Molly in his arms. Molly's legs around his waist, her nipples pebbled against his tongue, his cock buried deep inside her cunt, Tom's tongue in his mouth, two sets of hands on his body, two mouths.

But it's Molly's shy nod and the hot glint of desire in her eyes that makes his decision so easy. He agrees because he wants her. He agrees because he needs her. He agrees because he loves her. If Tom is necessary to get Molly, then he'll take Tom as well.

They suggest dinner at Tom's flat. He shoots that down without a thought. No, if he's only getting one night with her, then he's doing it his way. He calls in a favour from the manager of one of the most exclusive hotels in the city to get a suite, and it is worth every penny to see Molly spread across the silk sheets. She opens her eyes, her mouth, her thighs for him and it is glorious.

Tom dares to interrupt them, and Sherlock wants to punish him for it. He kisses the man, hard and aggressive, all teeth and tongue. He feels Molly's hands in his hair, her sweet sigh. "My pretty, pretty boys."

Sherlock feels his release coming. He tries to hold off as long as he can; but when Tom bends his head to Molly's breast and nips at the peak, she throws back her head and comes, and Sherlock can do nothing to stop the most intense orgasm of his life. His vision blackens and his arms weaken to the point where he's afraid he'll fall and knock the breath from her, but it's not Molly's arms that hold him up. Tom supports him long enough to find the strength to roll to the side, and he can do little more than watch as Tom urges Molly up to straddle him. She rides the other man, her small breasts moving with each of Tom's thrusts, and Sherlock finds himself drawn toward the couple once again.

When Tom comes to him the second time, he readily agrees. Molly is hesitant, embarrassed, but she quickly joins the two men on Tom's sofa. They all end up in a sweaty pile on the floor, sated and sleepy. The three of them spend the second of many nights in the same bed.

He briefly wonders if they'll stop when Tom and Molly marry. They go off on their sex holiday and Sherlock sits at home, telling himself that he's not jealous. That he doesn't miss them both. That Tom had somehow crept into his thoughts almost as much as Molly. Almost, but never ever quite the same. They call the third day, and tell him there is a plane ticket waiting if he wants it. If he wants them.

Even as he packs his bag, he thinks to himself, "They're both mine."


End file.
